


After the End

by StrangerWithMyFace



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, I don't know what I'm doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-07 00:39:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 15,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12222213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangerWithMyFace/pseuds/StrangerWithMyFace
Summary: A great sacrifice is made to end the Long Night, and a new monarch must be chosen for the Seven Kingdoms.





	1. SANSA I

**Author's Note:**

> This is a vague mish-mash of book and TV fandom. (I don't really watch the show religiously, but I hear things.) I apologize. We know that Azor Ahai reborn must kill Nissa Nissa (his or her significant other) to create the red sword of heroes, and many have assumed that was Drogo. But some have also posited that Dany would have to kill Jon Snow as well. I've also seen theories that Jon is Azor Ahai and Dany would die. So this is basically, fuck it they both die what now?

_If the old tales are true, a terrible weapon forged with a loving wife's heart. Part of me thinks man was well rid of it, but great power requires great sacrifice._ – Thoros of Myr

****

SANSA

Winterfell was deep in mourning when word came that the Lord Hand was coming up the Kingsroad with great haste. Sansa could not help but think of her lady mother, how she had learned King Robert was coming to Winterfell and how she had guessed he would name Eddard Stark Hand to the King. 

The thought made her weeping begin again. She had been so young then and so sure that going to King’s Landing would be the greatest thing that ever happened to her.

“Father didn’t want to go south,” she remembered. Lady Catelyn had to remind him that one did not refuse a King. Just like her lord father, Sansa knew none of the remaining members of her dwindling pack wanted to go south either. But could one refuse the Hand? 

Wiping her eyes and reminding herself to take heart—strong as her mother; brave as her father—Sansa rose from her seat and headed to the godswood. There was something comforting about the place now. When she was a child she found the faces in the heart tree frightening. Now they were like friends, or more aptly, like brothers. Then men in the trees were just like Bran. Father was in the trees. And maybe, just maybe, Mother was too though she had worshipped the new gods. 

Arya Stark was in the godswood practicing with her Needle. Sansa did not know what to say to comfort her sister. Arya had not returned to Winterfell quickly enough. She had lingered in the Riverlands with her Brotherhood, putting things to rights. She hadn’t been there to bid farewell to Jon as Sansa had. 

Arya would never see her favorite brother again, except in dreams. Sansa knew she was hardly a substitute. 

“Arya,” she whispered. It came out like a choke, but her sister turned and saw Sansa’s face. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Is it Bran?” 

“No, no,” Sansa replied. She hadn’t meant to upset her sister, to cause more pain. They had little to celebrate. Bran’s return from the Land of Almost Winter was miraculous. He was just a boy, and crippled at that. How he should survive when Jon and the Dragon Queen had perished was the great mystery the entire Seven Kingdoms wrestled with.

Bran couldn’t speak of it, though he seemed more present than he had been before he left. 

Looking after their little brother had been the thing that had united the Stark sisters, besides their grief. He was vulnerable. Sometimes he was still confused about when he was—for trees did not know time the same way people did. But at least now he remembered who he was. He was Bran Stark, he assured them. He had confessed that Jon died protecting him, then broke down sobbing. It was the first time Bran had shown emotion since meeting the Last Greenseer. 

Arya and Sansa had both held him and the three of them cried together. They three knew that Jon Snow was Eddard Stark’s son. That he was their brother. It didn’t matter who his father was. 

Trying to pull herself from the sadness, Sansa squared her shoulders. “We’ve had word that the Hand to the King is coming to Winterfell from King’s Landing.” 

Arya frowned. “What’s he want? Hasn’t he done enough?” 

Sansa thought it was unkind to blame Tyrion Lannister for all that had happened. He hadn’t created the Others, or caused the Wall to fall. He had helped Queen Daenerys secure the Iron Throne—fought against his own sister to do so. It would’ve been harder to fight the White Walkers if the realm hadn’t been at an uneasy peace. 

“We must assume it is official business, else he would send a raven.” 

Arya’s eyes went wide as she finally understood what Sansa already had. “No,” she said, fiercely. “Bran is too weak. He shouldn’t leave the North in any case. Father and Robb went South and look what happened to them.” 

_They marched the wrong way._ That is what Bran had said. The Lords of House Stark should stay in the North. 

But Jon Snow—or Aegon Targaryen or whatever you wanted to call him—had married Daenerys Targaryen. Neither had human children. 

Did that make Jon's cousin heir to the throne? 

“Bran can’t go where the weirwoods have been cut down,” Sansa agreed. It wasn’t clear if Bran could live without the help of the old gods. What was clear was that he was not prepared for life in King’s Landing, like Father before him. “I have already sent ravens to the castles along the Kingsroad saying as much.” 

There was a shortage of maesters in the realm now, but Stark ravens never went astray. Bran knew the ways of speaking to them as the Children of the Forest had once. 

“I thought there were rumors the Imp would seize the Iron Throne for himself,” Arya grumbled. “Why doesn’t he do that? He could claim to be Cersei’s heir and Daenerys’ chief advisor.” 

“The Unsullied and Dothraki support him,” Sansa mused. Of course she had thought of who would be King after her brother. “But the Dornish will never bend the knee to Tywin Lannister’s son and his own house is divided.” 

“I won’t let him take Bran,” Arya said, gathering up Needle and her other many weapons. She turned to Sansa thoughtfully. “You won’t either, will you?” 

“I will do anything to protect Bran,” Sansa assured her sister, a bit hurt. Yes, she had softer feelings for Tyrion Lannister than Arya did, but she would never betray her brother. 

Not ever. 

# 

Unlike King Robert’s party, Tyrion Lannister and his Dothraki riders arrived at the gates of Winterfell quickly. 

Sansa wore her embroidered House Stark gown and tried to look intimidating. Arya was shorter but somehow much more intimidating with her Needle at her side, and the remnants of the Brotherhood without Banners. Sansa was glad to have Brienne of Tarth there as well. She was a steadying presence, the only knight who made Sansa feel truly safe even if she wasn't a proper knight. 

Lord Tyrion Lannister got off his horse with some difficulty. Sansa cut her eyes at those who began to laugh, silencing them. Then she strode forward to meet the man who had once been her husband. 

“My lord,” she said, trying to be as proper as her lady mother, “welcome to Winterfell.” 

Tyrion looked around at all the cold eyes watching him. “Yes, I feel very welcome,” he quipped. But he smiled at her. “My lady.” 

Then he handed her a roll of parchment. 

It had Jon’s seal on it, a white direwolf, not a gray one like House Stark’s. It made her think of Ghost and made her want to weep again. She wondered if this well of sadness would ever run dry. With her gloved hands, she broke the seal shakily, sending a glance back to Arya. 

There, in Jon’s handwriting was a decree that she could not make sense of at first. He named his heir, but the name was wrong. It didn’t say Brandon Stark. It spoke of “my most trusted advisor, the Lady of Winterfell, Sansa Stark.” 

And then at the bottom was a hand that was unfamiliar to her, but bore the three-headed dragon seal. 

“Jon’s family is my family now. Lady Sansa is the eldest. Her claim is strongest.” 

Sansa Stark fell to her knees. 

She would do anything to protect her brother. Even if it meant returning to King's Landing.  
 


	2. TYRION I

**TYRION**

Tyrion Lannister was in a foul mood. 

The procession would begin at the Gate of the Gods then continue through King’s Landing all the way to the Red Keep and the Iron Throne. The whole of King's Landing would be out to see the new Queen. Tyrion hated these displays. They were supposed to show the majesty of the nobles to the smallfolk but they also were a good opportunity for riot—as had happened to Sansa once before. 

And, of course, there was nothing particularly majestic about Tyrion Lannister. He’d be lucky if they didn’t laugh or throw things. At least he could sit on a horse, instead of waddling about. 

It was early in the day, mist still clung to the ground, and they were waiting to begin. The waiting didn’t help his temper any. He wanted this to be done. Once Sansa was crowned then they could get to governing. There was much to be done. It seemed folly to waste time on parades with all Seven Kingdoms in an uproar, but then tradition also reassured the smallfolk. 

Arya Stark, Brienne of Tarth, and a gaggle of Northern ladies and wildlings surrounded Sansa, as though she needed to be shielded from Tyrion. 

He’d barely been able to speak to Sansa since Winterfell. She had assured him he would remain on as Hand to the Queen, and that he had her confidence, which was gratifying. The only change she would be making to the Small Council was to add Davos Seaworth as Master of Ships, a position that had been empty since the death of Paxter Redwyne at the hands of Euron Greyjoy. And that was no hardship—Seaworth was a sensible man and Tyrion dearly needed more sensible men in King’s Landing. 

In truth, he had no reason for his temper. Sansa Stark was clever and kind. She had survived King’s Landing before. She may even prove a better monarch than her brother Jon. For Sansa had been Jon’s key advisor and Tyrion knew she had talked him out of a number of fool-hearty but noble acts that would’ve gotten him killed no doubt. 

It should have been a day for celebration. 

Instead he looked down at the missive he clutched in his hand. He had read it while breaking his fast, assuming it was official correspondence. The letter was from Robert Arryn, Lord of the Vale. He asked _Lady_ Sansa to fulfill the wishes of his dearly departed mother that the two of them be wed. 

Tyrion Lannister did not care for the Lord of the Vale. He was an idiot child, which he could have forgiven since his mother had been mad. But he had also tried to have Tyrion killed. Tyrion rather liked living so that was grudge he felt justified in holding. 

The message reminded him of the time Sansa Stark had spent in the Vale pretending to be Alayne Stone. He should've given it to her already and begged her pardon. Tyrion knew little to nothing about that time. He only knew that she had gone willingly. He didn’t blame her for taking the opportunity, though the timing had been inconvenient for him. 

What galled him about it was that Littlefinger had bested him: framed him for murder and stolen his wife away. 

Tyrion Lannister had been married to Sansa Stark for a short time. He’d taken pains to assure Jon Snow that it was a farce, that the thing could easily be annulled. All that was true. But there had been a brief time when it could have become more. When she could have trusted him and they could have escaped together. 

But there hadn’t been time to nurture the connection. Sansa had been taken from him by Littlefinger as surely as Tysha had been taken by his father. 

At least Sansa had survived her ordeal.


	3. SANSA II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm making up this Small Council based on the book version, not the show. I can't remember who the heck is on the Council on the show. I'm pretty sure it's just Cersei and Qyburn? Maybe?

_“Go Ahead, call me all the names you want," Sansa said airily. "You won't dare when I'm married to Joffrey. You'll have to bow and call me Your Grace." She shrieked as Arya flung the orange across the table. It caught her in the middle of the forehead with a wet squish and plopped down into her lap._  
_"You have juice on your face, Your Grace ," Arya said._

SANSA

On the night Sansa Stark was proclaimed Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, her sister was kind to her but she did not bow and she certainly didn’t call Sansa “your grace.” Instead Arya stood by Sansa’s side all night, glaring at lords and ladies alike. 

“Must you frighten everyone?” Sansa asked, under her breath between greeting nobles from the Stormlands. 

“I promised Bran I wouldn’t let you come to harm again in this viper’s nest,” Arya hissed back. “And the Kingsguard is not what it used to be. How is Boros the Belly still alive?” 

“Queensguard,” Sansa corrected. “And can you plot to murder him less conspicuously?” 

“So long as I can plot to murder him,” Arya grumbled, turning her scowl into a—somehow more frightening—smile. 

Sansa knew she should have never told her siblings that Joffrey used to Kingsguard to beat her, but she had never thought to be back in this place and under their protection. Another thing she added to her mental list to bring up with the Small Council. 

That night, after it is all mercifully over, Arya helped Sansa remove the heavy crown—which was modeled after Robb’s—and prepare for bed. When they were girls, Arya would never share Sansa’s bed. Instead she stayed up late and gossiped with Jeyne Poole. But Jeyne had not come to King’s Landing this time, too scarred after living under Ramsay Snow’s rule. It seemed the years had stripped everything away from the Stark sisters, leaving them with only each other to cling to. 

“Is there anyone here you trust?” Arya asked, keeping her voice low even in the privacy of the Queen’s bedchamber. 

“You, Brienne, Davos,” Sansa said. “Just no one who worked for Lord Tywin, or Cersei or Littlefinger…” 

“Which is everyone who has lived here for more than a month.” 

“I do trust Lord Tyrion,” Sansa confessed though she couldn’t explain why. “I know you think I shouldn’t but Jon agreed with me.” 

Arya huffed. And, after a silence asked, “What did you and Jeyne talk about all those nights you were up giggling?” 

“Boys mostly,” Sansa teased. “Which reminds me your Ser Gendry has lived here for more than a month. Can he be trusted?” 

That shut her sister up quickly. 

# 

The next day, Sansa prepared for her first Small Council meeting. The Council hadn’t been properly convened in a long time. Queen Cersei preferred to keep her own counsel. Queen Daenerys had not ever had the time. Sansa wondered if that was for the best, Daenerys had her own counselors who were all devoted supporters. Not everyone on the Small Council could be trusted. 

Sansa Stark squared her shoulders and pushed open the door to the council room. The men were already arrayed about the table. 

There were seven places on the Small Council, as seven was a holy number. 

The Hand to the Queen sat at one head of the table, and Sansa took her place opposite him. Sansa knew him well enough to trust. There had been a time when she considered him her chief ally in King’s Landing, before she left for the Vale, but they had never become close. That would have to change; she would need to find a way to stop being awkward around him. She gave him a nod. 

Next was the Grand Maester. Sansa was used to Grand Maester Pycelle, but the old man had passed. Now a maester named Marwyn sat in his seat. Sansa knew him not. But she has heard he was raised to the position because he was the only maester with the Valyrian steel link for sorcery. She wasn’t sure if that made him more trust-worthy or less. 

Lord Randyll Tarly was still master of laws and justice. He was a large presence in the room and solemn. Sansa had already considered dismissing him after hearing Samwell and Brienne speak of him. But he commanded a large army from the Reach and she did not wish to alienate Highgarden as her first order of business. Certainly if the Reach needed him back, she would gladly find a replacement. 

Ser Harys Swyft was the master of coin, a position Tyrion and Petyr Baelish both once held. Sansa only knew that he was a Lannister man, somehow related to Ser Kevan. The council had a good deal of lions on it, she thought, and not many wolves. 

Ser Davos sat next to Ser Harys, his eyes shining at her. If there were anyone in the room she trusted completely it was him. Ser Davos may have grown up in Flea Bottom but there was something about his straight-forward ways that reminded her of her Lord Father. She knew the other lords mocked him as the Onion Knight but she had been pleased to name him master of ships. Ser Davos had been a smuggler before becoming a Knight and Hand to King Stannis, he knew the harbor of King’s Landing better than anyone she reckoned. She hoped it would be a good match. 

Then there was the spymaster, Lord Varys. He’d served more kings and queens than she could count so she knew he was not loyal to her alone. She did know that Littlefinger considered him an adversary so he must have been good at his job. It would be folly to make a mistake in front of Lord Varys. 

Lastly was the Lord Commander of the Queensguard, Ser Jaime Lannister looking rather haggard and much older than she remembered. He had betrayed his sister, left her service. He rather looked like he would rather be anywhere else. Sansa remembered Arya’s comment that the Queensguard was not what it used to be and she thought longingly of Ser Barristan Selmy who had been her father’s friend in King’s Landing. At least Ser Jaime had once been a great knight unlike some of the others Queen Cersei had named. 

Lord Tyrion cleared his throat. 

“Let’s begin then,” Sansa said. “We have much to discuss.”


	4. TYRION II

_”I do solemnly proclaim Tyrion of House Lannister and Sansa of House Stark to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them.” – Septon, “A Storm of Swords”_

TYRION

The new Queen looked beautiful as she began the Small Council meeting. For a moment, he could not for the life of him think of anything to say. He had a list of things he to discuss with her and he could not remember any of them. The silence became awkward, and he saw Jaime turn his head toward him slightly, amused.

“There are vacancies on the Queensguard…” Jaime began.

“Yes,” the Queen agreed readily. “We may need to adjust the system of how new members are appointed. I do not think anyone benefits when literal monsters are on the Queensguard.” She was referring, of course, to how Cersei had appointed the undead corpse of Gregor Clegane to the guard. Jaime made a face to show that he knew that was not a proud moment for his brotherhood. “Perhaps you can come up with some sort of test of honor, Ser Jaime? I believe Lady Brienne had some ideas…”

Randyll Tarly snorted.

Jaime stiffened next to Tyrion. The Queen reflectively grabbed the tabletop tighter. Tyrion wondered if Tarly knew how many ways he was about to be murdered.

“A woman has no place on the Kingsguard,” Tarly said.

Sansa quickly turned her face back into her mask of politeness and corrected him. “Queensguard, my lord, and she has not yet been asked but she has protected me for some time.”

If Tarly noted the Queen’s displeasure, he did not show it. He shrugged and said, “She should have been married off years ago.”

“Speaking of marriage,” Lord Varys piped up. He turned to Tyrion, obviously pleased with himself. “I have taken the liberty of discussing the question of your marriage with the new High Septon.” Then he looked at the Queen.

Sometimes Tyrion did hate Varys more than he hated any other person in the realm. This had been the thing he wanted to most avoid talking about with the entire Small Council, and instead get a moment alone with the Queen to bring up a formal annulment. Varys smiled his knowing smile. Tyrion knew he was enjoying himself immensely by imparting information that neither the Hand nor the Queen knew.

“The new High Septon says that Queen Sansa and Lord Tyrion are still married in the eyes of the Seven, and if you want an annulment you will have to submit to a Council of the Faith.” Varys sighed like this was such a bother. “I believe he is attempting to regain some control over the Crown after certain mistakes…”

Everyone turned to look at Tyrion. He would have happily strangled Varys right then. This was the question that had haunted him all the previous night. Half the Realm believed he was a scheming demon monkey who killed his sister, his niece and nephews in order to steal the crown. Now there was a new, beautiful queen that they would see him as forcing himself upon.

Tyrion looked at Sansa then, while everyone was facing him. Lightly he said, “It is a lucky thing your family worships the old gods, Your Grace.”

She smiled slightly, clearly aware he was giving her a way out. “Lucky,” she repeated and he could not quite guess what she was truly thinking.

Then she continued: “But the issue of marriage should be addressed, I suppose.” She put her shoulders back, and flung many pieces of parchment onto the table. “These are the proposals that have come. It seems I have a great many suitors I did not know of before yesterday.”

Tyrion gaped. He knew of the letter from Robert Arryn, and he saw that among the pile she so casually dismissed, but there were many others.

“The two most important are from Robert Arryn of the Vale and Willas Tyrell of Highgarden,” she continued. “But I wish to be clear,” she drew a breath. “My brother and Queen Daenerys named me heir and I see these as attempts to gain power. Obviously I cannot put off marriage forever if it is necessary for the safety of the Realm, but the peace is fragile now. I dare not upset the balance until we,” here she looked at every man present, “have firmer control over all Seven Kingdoms.”

“I shall tell Lords Willas and Robin of the High Septon’s intransigence,” Varys replied easily. “They shall have to ask their gods for an answer, not Your Grace. And it shall buy us time.”

Other times, Tyrion quite liked Varys. He handled things neatly. Most everyone nodded in agreement with the eunuch. Sansa turned to Lord Tarly, “Do you believe a woman has no place on the Iron Throne either, my Lord?”

Tarly must have been slow because it was only then that he realized that he had waded into dangerous waters. More so, perhaps, because they were discussing ignoring a proposal from his liege lord. Jaime turned to Tyrion and grinned openly.

“I do believe, as the Seven say, that a woman should be subservient to her lord husband,” Tarly blustered. “But the Maiden is one aspect of the Seven that might be most, uh, appropriate for the current situation…”

Tyrion stopped listening. He rather thought Grey Worm would make a fine master of laws. It would appease Queen Daenerys’ followers who thought there were too many Lannisters on the council. And perhaps a northerner for master of coin…


	5. SANSA III

_[Sansa] had always heard that love was a surer route to the people's loyalty than fear. If I am ever a queen, I'll make them love me_. – Sansa, “A Clash of Kings”

SANSA

Dismissed, the Small Council shuffled out of the room with bows. Sansa’s head ached, and her tummy rumbled. They had talked for nearly four hours, much of it bluster and posturing for the new Queen. All that time wasted and so little accomplished. She wanted to put her head on the table, perhaps sleep for a day at least, but she dared not show weakness here.

She did not notice Tyrion bring her a glass of wine and a plate of fruit conjured from she knew not where. He climbed, awkwardly, into the tall chair at her left—instead of the one at the other end of the table—and sat. For a moment she thought he would take her hand, but he did not.

“Ser Davos was a good pick for master of ships,” he said. It seemed he was trying to be consoling.

“We shall meet with him tomorrow about trade,” she said. “You need to tell him of your experiences in Essos. We have mostly kept to ourselves, but we will need to get food and goods from abroad if we are to feed the smallfolk after such a long winter.” Then she sighed. “Though I know not how we shall pay them unless they want snow and ice.”

Tyrion shrugged. “I did not see any snow or ice in Meereen. Perhaps they would see it as a delicacy.”

“I know we have been in debt to the Iron Bank of Braavos since my father was Hand to King Robert. My sister has, well, she explained what happens to those who do not repay the Iron Bank,” she said. “Dare I ask how much we owe after years of constant warring?”

“Surprisingly,” Tyrion attempted to strike a reassuring tone, “we are not much worse off than when your lord father was in office. My sister made a significant payment with the riches of Highgarden.”

Sansa sighed. “A one-time payment. When we might have used the bounty of Highgarden to feed the populace.”

Tyrion tilted his head and took a drink of wine. She took this to mean he agreed with her. The riches of Westeros had once come from Highgarden’s crops and the mines of Casterly Rock. Both sources of trade now lost to Queen Sansa.

“Dragonstone has had inquiries about Draonglass, your Grace,” he said. “Apparently it has become fashionable to wear or make ornamental weapons out of.”

Sansa sniffed. “The North may need that dragonglass to fight again one day. If there is extra, then we might sell it at a premium but what if we cannot risk depleting our source.”

He rubbed his scar and said, “Just so.”

She ripped a few grapes off their stems and placed them into her mouth one after another, thinking. “Promise me you shall think of something clever.”

This made him smile. He bowed. “I promise, my Queen,” he said solemnly.

Sansa wanted to add “not brothels.” For that is how Petyr Baelish made his fortune, selling naïve young women to monstrous men. But she held her tongue for fear he would take the comment amiss, considering his own reputation.

“Thank you,” she added, “for what you said about our marriage.”

Tyrion stilled beside her. “We were never truly married, your Grace. It was like…” Here he paused, unable to find the right words. “It was like a bud that never became a flower, I suppose.”

“That was rather poetic, my lord,” she said with a slight smile.

He laughed. “Do not tell Jaime; I shall never hear the end of it.”

Sansa liked the idea of having secrets with Tyrion, but she did not say so. It had been man years since secrets had been fun and not something that could get her killed.

“Will you be at the feast tonight, my lord?” she asked, honestly curious. The Queen was to host many of the great lords who had come from all over for her coronation. It would be a smaller, more intimate affair than the previous night’s city-wide festivities. The thought of dressing and putting on the crown again made her feel tired, and she thought perhaps the evening would be more enjoyable if she had someone to talk to.

“Alas, no,” he said. “I tend to give offense at gatherings; I don’t have your way with people. Varys and Davos will be there if you need assistance.”

Sansa did not know what to say to that. It was true he sometimes offered cutting comments, or got too drunk at banquets. Still, it felt like a loss.

“If you need me I shall be with Ser Harys, going over the Crown’s accounts during his time as Master of Coin,” offered.

“Do you not trust him?” she asked, curious.

“I am certain he did his best, but,” he trailed off. “Not everyone is Petyr Baelish.”

Sansa knew he meant that not everyone was as clever as Petyr Baelish and not to praise the man, but still she cringed. “While you are there, you should see if Littlefinger left his own accounts. I have reason to believe he was saddling the Crown with debt on purpose, to sow chaos.”

“Wonderful,” Tyrion said, not hiding his sarcasm. “Tonight, while you make half the Realm fall in love with you, I shall see how fucked we are.”

She laughed, not bothered by his vulgar words. “Only half?”

“Yes the other half is already in love with you,” he assured her earnestly.


	6. TYRION III

TYRION

Grand Maester Marwyn was not a pleasant man to look at. Tyrion Lannister probably should not have been allowed to think such things—gods knew he was no beauty either. But he could not help but wonder about Marwyn. How had his teeth been stained red? Marywn said it was wine stains but Tyrion had drunk more wine in his lifetime than most and his teeth were fine, so he could not believe it. 

“Just so,” Tyrion agreed, as the maester spoke. He had truly stopped listening quite some time ago. 

Marwyn was something of a fanatic. He was obsessed with his obscure prophecies and beliefs. Until recently most of the maesters of the Citadel had thought him mad. Tyrion rather thought they were not wrong on that. 

He had spent the evening previous reading a tome Marwyn had written on dragons. Tyrion had loved dragons in his youth, and he had read much more when aiding Queen Daenerys. Yet he could barely keep his eyes open while reading Marwyn’s book. The man seemed to conflate dragons—the real, flesh and blood creatures—with all manner of mysticism and the occult. 

“… it is too bad Queen Daenerys’ dragons did not survive so I could study them.” 

This was the opening Tyrion had been waiting—and waiting, and waiting—for. “Of course, Grand Maester, the Citadel should study the dragons more rigorously. I know you have long advocated as such.” 

Marwyn nodded. Tyrion wondered if the man would have treated Daenerys herself as a specimen had she survived. He did not wish to think on it. 

“It was surprising to me that Grand Maester Pycelle did not take King Robert up on his offer to buy the Mad King’s dragon skulls…” Tyrion began. As far as he knew, King Robert had made no such offer, but he knew Pycelle scorned the dragons and all they represented. 

Marywn gasped. “Pycelle wrote that Robert had smashed the skulls to dust!” he exclaimed. 

Tyrion had rather been hoping that was the case. “I assure you it is not so, Grand Maester. The skulls are kept beneath the Keep. Perhaps I could show them to you one day, but I have a meeting with the Queen…” 

Marwyn was disappointed, of course. He wanted to see them immediately but Tyrion would rather have him stew on it for a bit. The Citadel, he had realized, was one of the last institutions of Westeros that still had significant resources. If he could trick Marywn into buying the skulls, which had been treated as no more than trash since Robert took the throne, then perhaps they could make the next interest payment to the Iron Bank. 

It was true he needed to meet with the Queen right then; he had to tell her of his scheme and get her leave to sell the skulls. They had both been somewhat dispirited of late, after Ser Harys’ ledgers proven the Realm was in more trouble than they had supposed. 

Tyrion had honestly considered melting down all the gold fixtures at Casterly Rock, so the Queen could save her head. But that alone would not be enough. In any case, Sansa had refused. She insisted that they needed to find longer term solutions. 

# 

The Queen was in her solar. He was surprised to find her attended by a gaggle of ladies whom he did not know. Most appeared to be Northern women, based on their dress. They were talking excitedly and laughing. More surprising, Queen Sansa was smiling at them, truly smiling not her courtly smile. He felt as though he were intruding. 

“Am I interrupting, Your Grace?” he asked. 

The Queen turned her smile on him, which made him feel a bit drunk. “My lord,” she exclaimed and stood up, brushing off her skirts. “What do you think?” 

Tyrion looked her up and down, unsure what was being asked of him. Behind her the ladies tittered and made him feel dimwitted. “About what, Your Grace?” 

“I told you the men would not even notice a difference!” a loud, busty lady called to Sansa. 

“Hush, Randa,” the Queen said. Then she knelt to speak to Tyrion. “These ladies have agreed to help me with another scheme,” she said. “Remember how Davos said our main exports were wine, precious metals and linen?” 

He did remember; it had only been yesterday that they had sent Davos to the Arbor with a plan to increase production if the Crown would risk its own ships to sell the wine in Essos. They would not hear from the Onion Knight for several more days. He nodded. 

“The North once supplied much of the wool to the Seven Kingdoms, but many of the sheep had to be eaten during the Winter. So Myranda Royce,” she nodded to the loud lady, “has agreed to lend the Crown some of her house’s sheep. The Northern ladies will train the followers of Queen Daenerys who have not yet found work to make cloth, until the Northern herds are returned.” Here she meant the former slaves that the lords of the Crownlands kept complaining about. “We shall pay them wages of course.” 

Tyrion blinked. “You hope to keep the linen trade stable this way?” he asked. “Until the North recovers?” 

She nodded. “Also, I thought on it some. Your sister favored silks and Myrish lace for her gowns. I have decided I will wear only gowns made here, in the Seven Kingdoms. Myranda thinks that since I am the Queen now, I can set the fashion.” 

Again she gestured to her skirts. It was, in truth, a simple grey gown without much embellishment but it fit Sansa perfectly. She looked as delicate as a doll. “You look lovely, Your Grace,” he said honestly. 

“I may add some embroidery myself,” she confessed. “You do not think I look plain?” 

“You never look plain,” he said, then wondered if he should take that back. Myranda Royce, behind Sansa, smirked at him. 

Sansa smiled her true smile again, and kissed him on the cheek. And felt like, perhaps, things were not so dire after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I've just remembered how difficult it is to write fics. You have to research all kinds of weird stuff. According to my searches wools and linens really were one of the main exports of medieval Europe. The scheme to change the fashion of the nation is based on George Washington's plan to make Americans stop buying foreign clothing (see: http://www.mountvernon.org/preservation/collections-holdings/browse-the-museum-collections/object/w-574a-b/ ). I liked the idea of Sansa having a scheme Tyrion never would have thought of.


	7. SANSA IV

_No one can protect me. No one can protect anyone._ – Sansa, Game of Thrones

SANSA

It was just when she started to feel like things were going well that they went wrong, of course. She told Arya that she could sleep in her own chambers for the first time since the coronation. She did not dream of Lannister men coming for her, killing Septa Mordane. She did not exactly remember what she dreamed but Tyrion was there and it was pleasant. They were in the godswood. She rather thought Lady was with them as well.

Lady Brienne woke her. “Your Grace, forgive me. Your Grace?”

Sansa felt her heart racing for fear. Her first thought was that she had to run to find Arya, that she could not lose her sister again. And then she remembered that she was Queen and that Lady Brienne would not hurt her. “What is it?” she asked, and then because she could not help it, “Where is Arya?”

“There is a rider, Your Grace. There has been an attack. I believe your sister is next door, shall I fetch her?” Brienne seemed confused. Sansa tried to smile at her and nodded.

An attack, she thought. She did not know what that meant as she dressed, only that they would expect a Queen to be stronger than she felt. She looked at her shaking hands and thought a Queen should not shake so.

Moments later, Arya flew into the room and Sansa’s heart seemed to start beating again. She hugged her sister. “What is it?” she asked.

“They killed them all!” Arya shouted. “Monsters.”

Sansa did not understand. Arya continued, “the little settlement of the former slaves near Duskendale? The one you wanted to send Lady Alys to? There was some quarrel with the local smallfolk, who did not want the foreigners there. Today they found the whole place burned to the ground. The rider has only just arrived.”

Sansa had purposefully kept the former followers of Queen Daenerys in the Crownlands. She had thought to protect them herself. Several small settlements had been formed because the lords would not allow the people into the holdfasts unless they swore allegiance.

She reached inside herself, pushing aside the fear, and brought out the steel of anger. Her people had been murdered.

Slowly, she descended to the Throne Room, where she found Jaime Lannister, Grey Worm and the rider, a man who looked much older than his years, talking over a pile of rags on the stone floor. They all bowed, the rider only after startled moment, as she entered with Arya and Brienne.

She approached the thing on the floor, knowing he man did not bring it so far on horseback for no reason. Cautiously, she pulled the lines away and found something unrecognizable. It was burned black and only had the shape of a person. She could not even tell if it was male or female. If it had been.

“How many?” she asked.

Grey Worm answered. “Nearly a hundred, Your Grace.”

She blew out a breath. It could have been worse. Other settlements were larger. The thought brought no comfort to her and certainly would not bring any to the man who had come for justice. She turned to the rider. “Tell me.”

He did. They had come the night before. The man had been away from his home. He had left his daughter with friends. When he returned, everything was burned. It looked as though they had been trapped inside their houses while they were set alight. He had dared no go to the nearby lords, for he knew not who had sent the killers.

Sansa looked down at the burned thing. She did not ask how he knew this was his daughter. She had been able to tell which head had been Ned Stark’s long after the crows had eaten his flesh.

Both Ser Jaime and Grey Worm asked to be sent to do the Queen’s justice.

“First we must know whom to bring to justice,” she said coolly, and knew what she had to do. The lords would lie and blame each other. “And where is our master of laws?”

Ser Jaime was red-faced. “We have sent for Lord Tarly.”

“Yet he is not here,” she observed. Neither was Tyrion; it was not like him.

“Grey Worm, you shall serve as master of laws and justice henceforth.” She and the Hand had spoken of removing Lord Tarly since the first day, but had wanted to come up with a reason that would give no offense. She no longer cared. Queen Daenerys’ people had to be reassured of their safety and they trusted her general.

He nodded, his eyes surprised. “I can send a legion of Unsullied…”

“It may come to that, prepare your men. But first we must know who is responsible.” Sansa took a deep breath and turned. “Sister, can you still tell the truth from a lie?”

Arya Stark grinned wolfishly.

#

When everyone was gone, Sansa felt empty. She had comforted the man best she could, telling him she could not bring his daughter back but that her sister would see justice done. She had not wanted to send Arya away, but it could not be helped. She could not kill all the lords nor could she appear weak at her first real test. Arya would pick her own men to go with her. Sansa was not worried for her sister, but herself. She might go mad in this place.

Grey Worm took the man by the shoulders, and promised him a room, leaving Sansa with Jaime Lannister. “Where is your brother?” she hissed.

Jaime made a face she did not recognize. “He was handling another matter.”

She tried to glare at him imperiously. She must not look as frightened as she felt because he confessed: “I am not supposed to tell you.”

“Right now I would very much like to shout at someone,” Sansa said, her voice barely a whisper. “Shall it be you or him?”

Ser Jaime led her back into Maegor’s Holdfast, to rooms Sansa thought were unoccupied. Jaime pushed a door open and said to her, “He just did not want to upset you, is all.”

She swept by him, not knowing what to expect. Some clandestine operation with Lord Varys? She was surprised to nearly trip over a beautiful, ebony-skinned, young woman. The woman’s eyes went wide when she saw Sansa. For a moment the two of them simply stared at one another. Sansa had never seen a woman so beautiful in her life. She felt stupid and angry. Of course, Lord Tyrion was known to keep company with… young ladies.

“Yaya,” his voice called from further inside the chambers. “Have you more clothing for her? This is ruined.”

Sansa had no notion what to make of that. It was the other woman who recovered first. “Er,” she said with a lightly accented voice. “My Lord Hand, we have a visitor.” Then she offered Sansa and belated curtsey.

“What? I told Jaime—"

Tyrion bounded into the antechamber and Sansa could not help but notice that his hands had blood on them. She rather wished she had stayed and yelled at Ser Jaime in the Throne Room instead.

“You Grace,” he said, rubbing his nose. He did that when he was uncomfortable. Good, she thought. “Have you met Alayaya?”

“No, I have not had the honor,” she said stiffly.

“Alayaya, may I have a word alone with Her Grace?” he asked. The woman disappeared into the other room hastily.

“May I ask what brings you here, You Grace?” He seemed to struggle to find the correct words.

“You may not,” she all but laughed in his face. “May I ask where you have been for the last hour?”

Tyrion rubbed his scar again. “I take it I was missed?” He was still confused she could tell, and it was oddly making her feel better about the whole situation.

“Yes, you were, my Lord Hand. We’ve had a rider from Duskendale. A hundred men, women and children were slaughtered there because they were foreigners. And neither my Hand nor my master of justice bestirred themselves to keep the Queen’s peace!”

Tyrion cringed. “Jaime should have come for me…” he offered, weakly.

“Your brother is not your servant. He was with me, where he was supposed to be.”

“I apologize, Your Grace,” he said, face in his hands. “Perhaps Grey Worm will send a legion—"

“I have already sent Lady Arya to discern who was responsible for the attack.” Sansa folded her arms across her chest, defensive of her choice. Obviously he would have sent Grey Worm, but that did not mean she had done wrong.

This surprised him. “You sent your sister?” he gaped at her. “But you have not let her leave your side since…”

He must have seen something in her face then; she tried so hard not to show her fear, but he reached out and took her hand. “You shall be safe, I promise.”

“No one can keep anyone safe,” she whispered. “I am the Queen and I cannot keep my people safe.”

Tyrion sighed heavily then. “It is true, I suppose,” he agreed. “I am trying my best.”

Then unexpectedly, he motioned for her to follow him into the smaller room. Alayaya knelt by the bedside of another young girl, who had been beaten bloody. The smaller girl was pale, and Sansa could tell her skin would soon be hideously purple. Her hair was auburn, what the wildlings would have called kissed by fire. Oddly, she wore a wolf pin on her now-ruined gown.

“Alayaya’s mother runs a brothel on the Street of Silk,” Tyrion offered by way of explanation. “I asked her to tell me if, well, if you had any enemies.”

She is a whore, Sansa thought. She noticed the girl’s hair was colored to look more red. Too look more like mine, she realized.

She put her hand on the girl’s head. She looked very young and very small. “Do men pay money to sleep with her… because she looks like me?

It was Yaya who answered. “They pay ten times as much.”

Sansa felt unspeakably sad.


	8. TYRION IV

TYRION

Tyrion Lannister did not know what it was like to be scolded as a child. Scolding was too soft a word for what happened when Tywin Lannister was angry with his children. The summons to the Queen's solar had come around mid-day. As he sat and waited for his audience, he wondered if this would have been what it was like to have a lady mother disappointed in him. He felt fidgety and anxious. His wits were slow from lack of sleep and when he thought of what he would say to Queen Sansa, he mostly wanted to tell her that he had not lain with Alayaya or Elys, which was decidedly not the point of any of it.

The Lady Brienne stood guard by the Queen's door. Tyrion did not know how much she knew about the previous evening, but he got the feeling the Maid of Tarth disapproved of him. Perhaps that was his own guilt he was feeling. In any case he decided she was altogether too tall. It was irritating.

He wondered if he was being made to stew on purpose, for Sansa was always prompt because she tried so hard to be courteous. Was she punishing him? 

When he was finally waved inside, he felt ashamed of those thoughts. Sansa had clearly not slept well either. (Though it made her look fragile and in need of comfort, whereas he was sure he looked like some troll.) There was a plate of food still sitting mostly uneaten. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap.

"Your Grace, I would like to apologize..."

She shook her head. "No, it was... It made sense to bring her here. Has she woken up?"

Tyrion shook his head. "I had the man in irons and sent to the gaol but apparently he is Lord Tarly's man, I understand this puts you in a difficult position. I shall take responsibility for my actions."

Sansa sighed and gestured for him to sit. "I have already dismissed Lord Tarly from the Small Council for failing to attend to me last night."

She was quiet then, and his itchy, uncomfortable sensation resumed. That would not be the end of it from Tarly, he was certain. 

"You and I must learn to trust each other better," she said at last.

"I do trust you, Your Grace," he replied quickly.

"I trust you as well, but we do not," she paused to find words. "We must not keep secrets. We must work together better. I fear..."

Her voice trailed off. He wondered what she feared.

She shrugged off whatever it was she had started to say and began again: "Clearly, Lord Tarly and many of the men of the Seven Kingdoms do not wish to accept a woman as their sovereign. You asked Alayaya to report her suspicions to you, and that is useful information but not if you keep it from me. You must stop trying to protect me."

Is that what he had been doing? Keeping Elys' existence from Sansa to spare her? Or had he simply not wanted her to assume he was having relations with these women? He was not certain.

He felt compelled to explain: "There was once a secret passage that lead from the Tower of the Hand to Chataya's. Alayaya would cover for me when I went out. Then Cersei... Cersei believed that she and I... that I had bedded Alayaya and she had her flogged. I feel," and here he stopped because he did not like to speak about his feelings. "I owe her. She did not betray me. I wanted to help her, as well as gain information. So when she came... She was terribly frightened Elys would die. I did my best to help."

Sansa did not speak. In his head he could hear her say that he could not protect anyone, not even a whore.

But when she spoke her voice was soft. "I am glad that you could help, my lord. My concern is that I did not know where you were. If Ser Jaime is on duty, then you must tell me or Davos or someone where to find you."

Tyrion slumped back in his chair. He was used to hiding so much of his activities from his family. But Sansa was not Cersei and she certainly wasn't his father.

"When I was last in King's Landing, I learned to trust no one, ever," she said. "Perhaps you learned only to trust your brother. We must unlearn these lessons if we are to work together effectively."

She meant he must "unlearn" his entire life as if that was a simple task. "And how do we do that, Your Grace?"

Sansa held up her hands. "I do not know."

"It took me awhile to understand Daenerys, after serving my sister and Joffrey," he offered. "Perhaps if we just give it time."

She shook her head. "It is not the same. It is clear there are men in the Realm who will not take orders from a lady. Daenerys was a woman too, but she had dragons to enforce her authority. I only have you."

He rubbed his nose. "I am a poor substitute for a dragon," he quipped.

She ignored his jest. "I mean, that we are going to have to convince some that you are in control, as your father was said to be the real power behind the Mad King. While the North, Dorne, and others want me to Queen and you simply a servant among many."

That was a complicated ruse. "Why me? The people do not respect me. I am no military leader. Perhaps you should chose a new Hand, if it will be so difficult to work with me."

Again she waved him away. "Some want stability. You are the next Lannister in a line. Some want a lady subservient to her lord, and you are my husband."

"Am I?" he asked before he could think better of it. For that was one subject they truly did not speak of.

Sansa sighed. "I know it is not exactly fair to ask you to pretend but it is the only solution I see."

Tyrion did not know what to say. He very much wanted to pretend.


	9. SANSA V

_My lady, I have seen how you look at my brother. Loras is valiant and handsome, and we all love him dearly . . . but your Imp will make a better husband. He is a bigger man than he seems, I think._ \-- Garlan Tyrell, "A Storm of Swords" 

SANSA

Sansa watched as the servants carried up trunks containing Lord Tyrion’s possessions. His new quarters would not adjoin hers, as lord and ladies’ bed chambers often did. But now he would be a mere two doors from her. In truth she did not know how to do this. She could barely keep once face on for the world, and now she would have to juggle two. Varys was the only one excited at the prospect; he seemed to think controlling what rumors got to whom would be akin to a fun game. 

The Lord of Whispers had enthusiastically reported that the High Septon did not know what to make of the news that Lord Tyrion was going to stay the Queen’s husband. They had wanted her to beg for an annulment, but they certainly could not complain outwardly if she chose to remain faithful to her lawful husband. 

Sansa liked Lord Varys, mostly because she knew him to be the person Littlefinger had hated most. But sometimes she wondered about the man. Did he spend his days deciding the fates of people he had never met? He claimed to work for the good of the Realm but could he if he only heard whispers of people and never knew their hearts? 

Her door was open when Tyrion knocked. “I am told we are to sup together,” he said. 

Ridiculous, she thought. We are supposed to be the two most powerful people in the Realm and we are being told to eat together. 

The Queen simply shrugged. “Hatched any clever schemes today?” she asked. The food had not been brought up from the kitchens yet. 

“No,” he said. “I have been busy keeping Pod from breaking all my possessions.” 

Sansa smiled. She liked Podrick Payne. She remembered him from when they had first been married. He had been as awkward as she felt. “Should Pod be a knight by now?” she asked. He was the oldest squire she knew. 

Tyrion heaved himself up into a chair. “I cannot knight him and neither can Lady Brienne, yet he does not wish to serve anyone else.” 

It was true. Someone who had taken the holy vows of knighthood had to administer them. “A right pickle he has gotten himself into.” 

Tyrion nodded. “Very Pod-like of him.” 

Silence fell over them as they ran out of inconsequential things to speak of. Sansa sighed, forcing herself up and out of her chair to the window. She had said he had to trust her more, and now she had to do likewise. It still felt strange to purposefully reveal secrets. She held her arm out and the raven leapt onto her arm. 

Tyrion’s eyebrows rose. “You are charming birds out of the sky now?” 

She smiled, slightly. “Not me. Bran.” 

The raven spoke in its strange bird-voice. “Our sister is done playing the game of faces. Roses on the road.” 

“I have never heard a raven say anything more than corn,” Tyrion said, as Sansa shooed the thing out the window, then closed the coverings. 

“Bran says the Children of the Forest used the ravens to send messages by speaking to them, and we have just forgotten how.” She sat back down and wondered if she should say what she was truly thinking. She took a quick sip of wine and decided she might as well try. “He never asks about my health or Arya’s, or tells us anything of his life at Winterfell. He sends lines like that, and sometimes we cannot even interpret the meaning.” 

Sometimes Sansa despaired that her brother would never return from the Land of Always Winter. 

Tyrion rubbed his nose and did not respond to her melancholy. “I suppose ‘roses on the road’ means the Tyrells are coming about Lord Tarly?” 

Sansa shrugged. That is what she had guessed as well. 

“The party should be here in a fortnight or so.” 

That was also what Sansa had guessed. It also said Arya had completed her business, that meant her sister would be back first. She was glad of that, at least. 

There had been a time when Sansa Stark dreamed of Highgarden. She had whispered Willas Tyrell’s name into her pillow at night. Now she dreaded his arrival. Had Margaery or Lady Olenna still been alive, she would have simply come out and told them her scheme. They had been her friends once. 

… Or they had been until she had been married. 

She looked up into Tyrion’s mismatched eyes and wondered if he knew what she was thinking. 

“Did your father tell you to marry me because he discovered Lady Olenna’s plan to marry me to Willas?” she asked. It was something she had always wondered. She knew Tyrion had never been begging to marry her, so there had to have been some need that forced Tywin’s hand. 

“Yes,” Tyrion said simply. Then he paled, perhaps realizing something. 

“What?” she demanded. 

“Er,” he said. “I only remember because I thought it odd… And, now, given all that has happened since, I wonder if you know…?” 

“What?” she asked again. 

“It was Littlefinger who told my father of the scheme, he must have meant to keep you from going to Highgarden.” 

Sansa frowned. Sometimes she thought every unhappiness in her life came from Littlefinger. She had been so crushed to have to stay in King’s Landing. And worse, she had not been invited for tea by Margaery after that. She felt like she had lost her only friends. She wondered if they had thought she had told the secret, as she had when her Lord Father meant to send her away. 

She put her head in her hands. “He used to boast of how he rescued me from King’s Landing. If that had been his goal, he could have saved himself some trouble and simply kept his mouth shut.” 

Tyrion fidgeted. They both knew that had not been Petyr Baelish’s goal. “I only remember because I thought it odd that Varys did not share the intelligence.” 

“Do you think he knew?” Sansa asked, curious. 

“I do not know,” Tyrion replied honestly. “You might ask him. Sometimes he does reveal his secrets but not often.” 

She could tell he was uncomfortable speaking about their wedding. But, she thought, perhaps they needed to speak of it. Then they could stop being so bloody awkward and fumbling around each other. 

“I must have been the last to know,” Sansa said. “Your sister told me I was to get a new dress, and once I tried it on she brought out the maiden cloak.” 

Tyrion cringed. “My sister was a considerate woman.” He reached for a glass of wine and added: “I asked to tell you earlier but my father would not let me.” 

Sansa wondered if every unhappiness in Tyrion’s life stemmed from his father somehow. 

“Do you remember our wedding?” she asked, honestly curious, because there were things she did not remember about that night. It had happened quickly for her. 

He looked at the cup of wine in his hands. “I did not drink that much, Your Grace.” 

Sansa blushed. “I meant only that I do not remember it all.” 

“That maybe for the best, Your Grace, it could hardly be the wedding of your dreams,” he said, not looking at her. 

No, it certainly had not been the wedding of her dreams but nor was it the one of her nightmares. He was always so apologetic for having married her and it—somehow—irritated her. He wanted her to pity him but she did not. If anyone else spoke so ill of Tyrion, she would have lashed out at them. 

She sighed and rubbed her head. “I do remember that Garlan Tyrell told me that you would make a better husband than Ser Loras.” He looked up at her, surprised. 

She had not thought about Ser Garlan in years. He had made her laugh at their wedding feast when she had been miserable. She struggled to think of another happy memory of that night, because suddenly she did not want it all to be misery for them. Joffrey, Cersei and Tywin had been terrible. Littlefinger had schemed. But they did not matter now. Defiantly, she seized on another time she had laughed that night: “I danced with Tommen and he demanded that he should be married too.” 

Sansa liked Tommen and Myrcella. It was only Joffrey she hated. She knew Tyrion loved them too, and that he was sad his niece and nephew had not survived. That was another thing they did not speak of. 

But the thought of Tommen only seemed to pain Tyrion more. “He was a good boy. He always wanted to throw pennies to the smallfolk; Cersei would never let him.” 

“Probably for the best considering our finances,” she quipped. 

His eyes widened, surprised she was jesting. She smiled at him. It was then that supper arrived. Several servants bustled in with trays. Sansa could not help but feel that the awkwardness between them had not been bridged, but perhaps she had a better understanding of what it stemmed from. 

She silently vowed that once they were out from under the yoke Littlefinger has put them under, they would both go out and throw pennies to the smallfolk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize that this is yet another chapter of them JUST TALKING. I didn't realize it would be so difficult for them to hook up. I think, in going over the wedding chapter in ASOS, I have figured out what the problem is. They have a lot of baggage that needs to be unpacked but they are not cooperating.


	10. TYRION V

Tyrion was in his chambers, looking for a book. He could not find it for the life of him. Pod had probably mislaid it somewhere. So he found himself tearing apart the entire room, searching under the mattress, all the shelves and trunks. He swore loudly. 

Jaime put his head into the room. “I thought you were being mauled by bears,” he said when he saw Tyrion was only in a snit. 

Tyrion made a rude gesture at his brother, which only made Jaime smirk. He watched Tyrion struggle for a moment and said. “Is something bothering you, brother? I have never seen you treat books so unkindly.” 

In truth, Tyrion had been in a foul mood for the past several days—ever since he had moved his chambers closer to the Queen’s. Tyrion could feel his brother’s eyes on him, probing and concerned. But thankfully, Jaime was not one to ask too many questions or pry into his feelings—that was the Queen’s job. 

Tyrion thought of how sad she had been that her brother did not as if she or Arya was well. At the time he had been uncomfortable, unsure of how to ease her worry. Now he imagined a raven speaking in Jaime’s voice and it sounded ridiculous. Or his voice! Imagine him sending ravens across the Narrow Sea to Queen Cersei here: “Are you well, sister? Do you still wish me dead?” He laughed out loud. 

Jaime closed the door and leaned against it, watching as Tyrion finally seized on the wayward tome with an air of triumph. “Fucking Tyrells,” he muttered. The book was a history of House Gardener, and told of their extinction and the Tyrell rise to power. 

“So it is true the Tyrells are coming?” Jaime asked. 

“Highgarden is angry that Randyll Tarly has been removed from the Small Council,” Tyrion groused. “Have you ever met their Lord Willas?” 

“No,” Jaime said flatly. 

Tyrion already hated this Willas Tyrell. He was supposed to be so wise and kind. The poor boy was lame in one leg but so handsome. Bloody Tyrells could not even be crippled properly. 

He should have at least been ugly or fat. Then people would stop saying he would be a perfect match for his w—for Sansa. 

“I suppose you are worried he will woo your wolf queen away from you,” Jaime observed. 

“I am still Hand!” Tyrion could at least be smarter than the boy. That was the one place he could beat Willas Tyrell. Angrily, he opened the book. His mind needed to be sharp. 

“You are a fucking irritating little man,” the venom in Jaime’s voice surprised him and he looked up. “So desperate to prove how clever you are, still brooding over imagined slights.” 

“What do you mean?” Tyrion asked, flabbergasted. 

“I was the one who sacked Highgarden. I gave the poison to the old woman. Cersei killed their sister and father. I imagine they have all but forgotten that you and father stole Sansa Stark from them by now.” 

Tyrion had always known that the Tyrells were not really coming about Tarly, and had assumed Willas meant to press Sansa for her hand in marriage. But it had not occurred to him that they might want Jaime's head. “It was war,” he insisted. “You did nothing wrong.” In any case, Tyrion would say no. He was the Hand! 

Jaime sighed. “You are the only one who thinks I did nothing wrong.” The anger seemed to have gone out of him. “Perhaps they do come for the Queen. But then they must speak to the High Septon, and I doubt the Tyrells wish to return to the Sept of Baelor…” 

Oh, right. Tyrion had forgotten about Margaery. Sometimes the things that had happened in King’s Landing while he had been in Essos seemed unreal to him. No, the Tyrells would not have a good relationship with the Faith after that. That must have been what Varys had been counting on, when he went to the new High Septon. 

“Perhaps the Queen would like you better if you thought more about her interests and less about your own, brother.” Jaime’s quiet words stung like a physical blow. 

“Seven hells.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure I quite nailed this down. (Figuring things out as I go, in case that wasn't obvious.) While doing the last chapter I realized Tyrion still had a lot of anger about how things went down in "Storm of Swords." So I wanted someone he cares about to be like "Ya gotta keep your head in the game, bro." I don't know if Jaime was the right character to choose, because he and Tyrion don't usually speak very frankly with one another. (They just hang out.) But it seemed less harsh from him because we know he loves Tyrion.


	11. SANSA VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize to those readers confused by the mash up of book and show continuity. I am mostly using the books, but going to the show when there isn't anything else. Basically, I'm making things up!

_“So if you must hate, Arya, hate those who would truly do us harm. […] Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you...”_ – Eddard Stark, “A Game of Thrones”

SANSA

The news that Arya Stark’s party was approaching the city reached the Queen just before afternoon. In her excitement, she forgot herself, and raced out the door. Ser Jaime was guarding the door and looked startled to see her.

Ser Jaime had taken the brunt of her sister’s absence. She had not been relying on the Kingsguard knights that Arya deemed unreliable, yet still she had not had time to appoint new members as she researched the legality of appointing Lady Brienne. He looked tired. The day before, she had heard him fighting with Tyrion too. I should give him a day off, Sansa thought, ashamed.

“Ser Jaime,” she said, collecting herself. “My sister approaches the gates. Would you be so good as to take me into the courtyard?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” he replied.

“On the morrow, I am sure I will be busy with my sister so perhaps you should take the day off,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Maybe spend the day with your brother?”

Ser Jaime laughed. “He has no time for me, Your Grace.”

“Mayhaps we all need the day off,” she thought aloud. He favored her with a smile.

Grey Worm was already outside in the courtyard with Missandei, the girl who had been Queen Daenerys’ handmaiden and translator. She looked rather sad, Sansa thought. She has lost her Queen and her friend. They had all lost so much. Sansa did not know how she could comfort everyone.

I will keep the peace, she thought. I must. We all deserve time off.

Grey Worm and Missandei bowed and curtsied to her. “I am sorry for your loss, My Lady,” she said to Missandei. “Perhaps when you are recovered we can find you a place at court?”

Missandei looked startled. Sansa did not know if she wanted to go home or stay. The girl looked toward Grey Worm and he seemed to shrug. “I would like that, Your Grace,” she said shyly.

Sansa smiled, pleased.

“Rumors have come from Duskendale that your sister is a witch,” Grey Worm said, after a silence descended.

Sansa opened her mouth to protest that Arya was not a witch, but she found she did not know how to explain what Arya was truly. Grey Worm grinned to let her know he did not believe the rumors, or perhaps simply that he was not afraid. Sansa grinned back. “I wish she were a witch; then she could conjure us some gold.”

She heard Ser Jaime snort behind her. He was on the Small Council too and knew as well as any that the Realm was in terrible debt.

But Grey Worm frowned. “Lady Arya has brought some thousand people back with her.”

Sansa felt her eyebrows shoot up. “How shall we house and feed them?”

“I have already ordered the Unsullied to set up tents, Your Grace,” he replied.

Sansa supposed that was something but there was not enough room in the city that she knew of. Why had Arya brought people back? She found herself looking at Ser Jaime and wishing his brother were with her as they waited for the party to arrive at the Red Keep.

It was not long. Arya rode through the gates, bringing the noise of the city outside with her. She reigned up, and danced her horse around when she Sansa. Arya had always been a show-off on a horse. Sansa could ride just fine, but Arya had been fearless and surpassed her at a young age.

“Sansa!” Arya shouted, with absolutely no ceremony befitting a queen. But she was happy and Sansa could not help but smile back. Forget dragons, her sister was absolutely the strangest creature in the Known World.

Arya practically leapt off her horse. Nervous, Sansa reached out to steady her. “I trust the mission was successful?” she asked.

Arya made an odd face. “All those people! I brought the ones that were too afraid to stay here.” She bit her lip. “They are yours now, right?”

Sansa looked and found Grey Worm and Missandei watching at her. “We will think of something, I suppose,” she replied. She just did not know what that was.

“I told them you would not hurt them,” Arya said. Then she seized her sister’s arm and said: “Oh! You meet with them!”

It was Ser Jaime that pulled Arya back. “I do not have enough men to protect the Queen.” Sansa was grateful. It would not be proper for the Queen to ride out amongst the smallfolk. She had not dressed for any ceremony either.

Arya glared and turned to Grey Worm. “They won’t hurt her!”

He looked at Missandei. “Sometimes Queen Daenerys went among her children with Ser Barristan,” the translator said.

She had? Sansa had not been out of the Red Keep since she had been crowned. She was relieved to see Ser Jaime as skeptical as her. “We have had riots in King’s Landing,” he insisted.

Sansa remembered. She remembered the crowd screaming for bread, and the feeling of hands on her as she was pulled from her horse, wishing she had bread to give them. She remembered the fear, how she would be dead if not for the Hound.

Arya seemed annoyed. She came and went as she pleased, unafraid of anything. Sansa wished she knew how to fight with a Braavosi blade then maybe she could go outside her walls too.

“We can take the Iron Gate,” her sister insisted. “We will be out of the city quickly. I will not let anyone hurt you.”

“I do not speak their tongue,” Sansa insisted, getting as close to Ser Jaime as she could.

Grey Worm stepped forward, looking intimidating. “We will go with you also,” Grey Worm said. Next to him, Missandei nodded.

Sansa did not wish to go, but her sister looked so sure, and she did not want to seem afraid. She turned to Ser Jaime, “Will Grey Worm be enough?”

He also did not appear completely convinced. “You go first, General,” he nodded to Arya and Missandei, “you two on either side. I will guard the rear.”

Arya looked so happy. Stupidly, all Sansa could think as she mounted a horse was how plain her dress was. She should have had a handmaiden do her hair up, but it was down in Northern style. The people would probably think she was a beggar compared to Queen Daenerys.

As they rode along the road, Grey Worm moved the smallfolk aside so they could ride by quickly. Ser Jaime stayed as close to Sansa as he could, and his mouth was tight. Arya and Missandei rode behind, and Sansa could feel her sister’s eyes on her back.

As they exited the Iron Gate, Jaime motioned to several Gold Cloaks. She wondered what he was telling them, but did not have time to think on it. Then they were outside of the city. Sansa almost laughed. It had been so quick and easy. For all the time she was hostage here, she wondered why she never thought to just ride out.

Because then you would have been alone in the middle of a war, she reminded herself, thinking of what Arya experienced.

There were lots of people camped outside the city walls. They were putting up tents and going about their business. Most of them looked shabby and bedraggled. They have traveled so far, Sansa thought.

Arya was at her feet then, helping her dismount the horse. Her sister threaded her arm through hers and said, “Don’t be scared. These are my friends.”

When Arya was little, sometimes she wanted to play with Sansa and Jeyne. As she got older, more and more she preferred the company of the other inhabitants of the castle. She rode horses with Harwin, followed Jory around, and loosed some of Maester Luwin’s ravens. They called her Arya Underfoot, Sansa remembered. She was always in someone’s business. Arya preferred the company of baker’s boys and blacksmiths to her own sister.

Missandei came to stand at her other side, as Ser Jaime had instructed. “Are they cold?” Sansa asked. There was still a chill in the air from the Long Winter, though the snow had stopped. “Hungry?”

She did not know what to do to help them. If she had nothing to give them, would they be angry?

Ser Jaime came to stand behind her. With his flowing white cloak and armor, he looked more impressive than she did, and people began to turn and whisper.

Missandei spoke quietly to a few passing women. The replied and bowed to Sansa, then went on their way. “They say they are happy to be away from the lords that would do them harm,” she said.

How long will they remain happy? “Where do they wish to go next?” she wondered.

“Can’t they stay here?” Arya asked. “The ladies can teach them about weaving here.”

“They cannot block the city gates forever,” Ser Jaime muttered. Arya shot him a sour look.

“Not forever,” Sansa attempted to appease both of them. “But for now.”

More people came up to speak with Missandei. Some recognized Grey Worm as well. They were polite and bowed to Sansa. Sometimes they said things to her with words she did not understand entirely. But they smiled at her and she smiled back, wishing to make them feel safe. “Welcome,” she said, hoping they had learned some Common Tongue.

Arya was straining and looking for someone she knew in the crowd. Sansa knew she wanted to dart out into the masses and bring people back but she dared not leave Sansa, who still gripped her arm tightly.

At length, a mother brought her tiny daughter, who could not have been more than four, over. She pointed Sansa out to the girl, who looked at her wide-eyed and afraid. Sansa looked to Arya and Missandei who were both occupied. Unsure what else to do, Sansa leaned down and thought of her brother, Rickon. She scrunched her face up tight and stuck out her tongue, the way she used to when he was pouting. Then she quickly stood up straight before her counselors saw. She held her finger to her lips.

The little girl giggled loudly. Sansa smiled down at her. The mother said something. “She says you had pretty hair, Your Grace,” Missandei said. Sansa blushed, unsure if Missandei had caught the whole exchange.

More people came over, many just to inspect Sansa or Jaime’s armor. She tried to stand tall and look regal. She wished she had her crown. If they were just going to gape at her, she felt at least she should give them something to see.

“What is the point of this?” Jaime asked. “If there is someone you wish Her Grace to meet, why not summon them to the Red Keep?”

“The Red Keep is scary,” Arya grumbled, but Sansa did not think that Ser Jaime could hear her.

I have learned to survive in the Red Keep and she learned to survive out here, Sansa thought. And then she wondered if it was cruel of her to keep her sister with her, just because she was afraid. She really needed to fix the Queensguard. Arya would never be happy in King’s Landing, she realized with a pang.

The crowd was beginning to grow. Sansa did not feel as uneasy as she had. She saw as Grey Worm looked back at Ser Jaime. “Arya,” she said. “Go find your friend and bring him back here before we are trampled.” She turned to Ser Jaime and took his arm instead, letting her sister free.

As she knew she would, Arya darted out—swift as a deer.

The little girl from earlier came back with a thistle flower in her hand. She held it out to Sansa who took it with great solemnity.

“She says it is for your hair, Your Grace,” Missandei said. So Sansa put the flower behind her ear and the girl smiled again and ran away.

“Maybe I will make a crown of flowers like I did when I was a girl,” she said, mostly to herself. But beside her, Missandei smiled.

“I used to do that too, before,” she whispered.

Before long, Arya returned with a friendly-looking, older man. He was stern in a way that reminded Sansa of her father. Arya pointed to her sister and the man came forward and bowed deep.

“He thanks you for sending a faceless one to protect them,” Missandei translated, a bit unsure of herself.

Sansa did not know how to explain that Arya was not a Faceless Man, not truly. She was Arya Stark of Winterfell. She wondered if the man thought she had spent a great deal of money to hunt down the killers. Should she say she did no more than simply ask her sister? “Can you tell him I am glad they are safe now?” she asked Missandei. “And that I shall try to find suitable places for them?”

Missandei did as she bid. “Can we leave now?” Jaime asked, eying a large, angry-looking man darkly.

Sansa turned to her sister. “I shall see you back at the castle. Ser Jaime will see me home.” Arya frowned and Sansa realized she had called the Red Keep “home.”

Grey Worm and Ser Jaime guided her back to her horse. She waved to the gathered people when she was atop it, and could see them all. It was strange how so many people gather simply to look at her. Missandei mounted up beside her and they followed Grey Worm back into the city. The Gold Cloaks motioned them back into the city, allowing them to pass before some smallfolk that had lined up at the gate.

Sansa looked into the faces of the smallfolk she saw as she rode back to the Red Keep. The people inside the city walls seemed less friendly than those outside. Or maybe they were just used to seeing nobles ride past. She could not help her thoughts from returning to the riot, to the hands pulling her from her horse.

King’s Landing is calmer now, she thought, but it could riot again if we don’t find the coin. Abruptly, she remembered Lollys Stokeworth, who was raped by the mob during the riot. Lollys and Sansa had not been close but she never found out what happened to the other woman. She had been pregnant with a bastard because of it. Why had she never asked?

When the gates of the Red Keep finally close behind them, Sansa felt relieved. It was odd. She used to hate it so much here.

Tyrion was waiting in the courtyard with Lady Brienne and several others and she can tell by his face that he was worried. He had been there during the riot, she thought. He and Sandor Clegane were the only ones who cared if she was taken off by the mob. She felt ashamed that she had frightened him. Hadn’t she just yelled at him for going places without telling her?

Ser Jaime helped her off her horse, and she quickly reached for his brother. “I am sorry if I caused you to worry.”

He frowned and said, “I hear we have more mouths to feed.”

Sansa nodded and knelt down near him. “Tyrion,” she asked in a small voice. “Do you know what happened to Lollys Stokeworth? After she was raped?”

He seemed surprised by the question. “Lollys? She married my friend Bronn of the Blackwater, a former sell-sword. She is Lady of Stokeworth now.”

“Is she?” Sansa was strangely glad that Lollys had survived.

Tyrion looked at her oddly. “Your Grace, you have a weed in your hair.”

Sansa giggled. “That is my crown, my Lord.”


	12. Tyrion VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be the one where the Lannister boys talked it out. But they were very stubborn and refused. (Men and their feelings!) Not entirely happy with it, but I suppose it will have to do in order for me to move forward.

TYRION

Tyrion did not understand how a “day off” would help anything. He was antsy and did not wish to be idle. So he wrote letters—lots of them. When, at last his pen was exhausted, he read his book on Highgarden. Still, the hours went by slowly. He wondered what Sansa was doing.

It was not until afternoon that his brother Jaime showed his face. Jaime had looked tired since the war had ended. Today he looked a bit better, and Tyrion felt ashamed for cursing the idea of a day off.

“My don’t you look handsome today,” Tyrion laughed. His brother was freshly shaven and he looked younger.

Jaime made a face at him, poured himself some wine, and sat down. His brother scratched his chin, clearly uncomfortable with something. At last, when Tyrion could take it no longer, Jaime said, “I should not have yelled at you the other day.”

“It is nothing,” Tyrion assured him. He barely remember what his brother was talking about. They rarely spoke of anything of substance, mostly making jokes and keeping each other from going mad. They certainly never spoke of their father or sister.

“I do wish to be more of a help to you,” Jaime said, uncharacteristically thoughtful. “It seems I don’t know how anymore.”

“You help,” Tyrion said with a wave of his hand. “You protect the Queen.”

Jaime frowned. “I am a one-handed knight, and an old man. My queen is dead and if yours is alive, it’s not any of my doing.”

Tyrion did not know what to say to that. Console him about Cersei? And what did he mean “Tyrion’s queen”?

“If someone had come for her yesterday, I would have been of little use,” Jaime admitted.

“Lucky no one did,” Tyrion grumbled, he still was not sure what to make of Sansa’s little trip to the tent-city.

“It’s not luck,” Jaime said. “She’s making the people love her. None of the kings or queens I ever served ever tried such a thing.” Tyrion tried to imagine the Mad King or Joffrey going amongst the people. The idea was comical. Cersei would say it was too dangerous. Perhaps it was but it wasn’t love that killed Daenerys Targaryen. That was what had brought her to the shores of Westeros.

Tyrion rubbed his nose. “She was acting queer yesterday. Did anything go amiss?”

Jaime shook his head. “See was more upset riding through King’s Landing than outside the city walls.”

“She asked me about Lollys Stokeworth,” Tyrion remembered.

“Your sellsword’s wife?”

“Yes,” Tyrion agreed. Then he remembered. “Both she and Sansa were pulled from their horses during the riot. That must be what she was thinking of. Sansa was rescued by the Hound, but Lollys was raped and impregnated.”

“Ha!” Jaime said as he remembered. “He named the babe Tyrion, did you know?”

“I have a namesake?” Tyrion had not known. He had not realized Bronn had cared. The man had always made it seem like their relationship was purely business.

“Don’t be too sentimental,” Jaime laughed. “He did it to spite Cersei.”

Tyrion shrugged. “That was always one of my favorite reasons to do something.”

The silence fell again at the mention of their sister. Jaime’s queen, as he had said. But she was gone and Jaime was here with Tyrion. Didn’t that count for something?

Tyrion leaned forward. There was something he’d been thinking of for the past few days. He wanted to ask Sansa about it, but he wasn’t sure it would work. Perhaps he needed to take a page from her book and trust his family more.

“Brother, if you were comfortable going amongst the smallfolk in the Tent City, perhaps you can go and fetch me some people from there. I have a scheme…”


	13. SANSA VII

_She was the smallest of the litter, the prettiest, the most gentle and trusting. She looked at him with bright golden eyes, and he ruffled her thick grey fur._ – Eddard, _A Game of Thrones_

 

SANSA

 

Sansa breakfasted with her sister. She had intended to ask Arya all about her travels in the Crownlands, how exactly she had determined who was involved in the destruction of the settlement, and what she planned to do next. Her sister was not very talkative though.

 

They were served oranges and Arya asked if Sansa remembered the time they fought, and Arya threw an orange at her. “You said you were going to be Queen, you were right.”

 

Sansa shook her head. “Back then I thought being Queen meant everyone would love me, even you. Now I know better.” She thought about throwing her orange slices at her sister, and then remembered she was wearing a white gown—one of the ones made with Randa’s sheep—and decided she had better not. Arya’s aim would undoubtedly be better than her own.

 

Arya’s response was odd. She said: “You have father’s heart.” She looked sad when she said it and more than a little ashamed. If Sansa had Ned Stark’s heart then whose did Arya have? Everyone knew she and Jon had been the most like father.

 

Before Sansa could form her question, there was an urgent knock at the door. It was the Lady Brienne who had been stationed on the Rose Road to await the Tyrell party. “Your Grace,” she said bowing low.

 

Sansa stared at her stupidly. The Tyrells were not due until tomorrow, and Lady Brienne was supposed to greet them and bring them to their lodgings in Maegor’s Holdfast. There was no reason for her to come knocking at the Queen’s door, unless something had gone amiss.

 

“What has happened?” she asked, standing and bracing herself for some fresh blow. Was it always such in King’s Landing?

 

“Your Grace,” the warrior woman said again. She looked apologetic and a bit nervous, which made Sansa feel sorry and worry she had spoken too harshly. “I thought you should know at once. Lord Willas is not among them. Ser Garlan leads the men.”

 

Sansa felt as if she had been struck. Her mind was spinning. Bran’s message had said the Roses were coming but it never said Lord Willas. She had assumed he was quite serious about marrying her. This meant he was merely playing the game, and that he did not see winning her hand as absolutely essential.

 

She turned to her sister and then back to the Maid of Tarth, both of whom looked at her with concern. They think I will be hurt, she realized and—absurdly—she laughed. Her body shook and she had to bend over and clutch her knees.

 

Arya sent a worried look to Brienne, who hurried out of the room, presumably to fetch someone because the Queen had gone mad.

 

Sansa sat back down in her chair, trying to compose herself. “I am sorry,” she said to Arya, who came to stand over her.

 

The Queen put a hand to her face, unsure exactly what she was feeling.

 

“Does he not want to marry you then?” Arya asked, oddly indignant on her sister’s behalf.

 

“I don’t know,” Sansa whispered. It was true. She had never known Willas Tyrell’s heart. She had never known anything about him. Yet she had dreamed about him once. She whispered his name into her pillow. She wanted to marry him more than anything because it would take her away from King’s Landing, away from Joffrey, away from the Lannisters.

 

Ser Jaime and Tyrion entered, looking bewildered. Sansa was pleased they were so close now, she realized.

 

“Pray do not be alarmed,” she said to Tyrion, who looked as frightened as she had ever seen him. “It seems Willas Tyrell is making a habit of disappointing me.” She patted his hand. “But you are here.”

 

She thought perhaps Tyrion would be relieved as she was. He had been ever so anxious about the arrival of the Tyrells, fretting over it for a week or more. She had wondered if he had inherited his sister’s distrust of the Tyrells, but never dared voice that suspicion, since he so hated his sister.

 

Tyrion did not look relieved. He looked _furious_. “An insult,” he grumbled. “He should come to pledge his loyalty to you. He should have already come for the coronation.”

 

She waved her hand. That was perhaps true. The converse was also true. “It makes it easier. I can reject his proposal. Send Randyll Tarly home. He cannot stop me.”

 

“He could not have stopped you if he had come. You are the Queen.”

 

Sansa had once thought that being queen would mean that everyone would love her and she could do as she pleased. She had found the opposite to be the case though. She did not wish to be in King’s Landing, yet here she was. Nor did she wish to be scrapping pennies together to pay off a debt she hadn’t incurred, or see innocent women beaten because they resembled her.

 

“Lady Brienne, would you be so good as to bring Ser Garlan to the Small Hall?” she asked. “I would like to speak with him before any formal reception.”

 

“Of course, Your Grace,” the woman said, with a bow. She still looked anxious though. Sansa would have to reassure her later.

 

The door closed behind her and her three remaining attendants turned to her. Sansa did not know what to say.

 

At last Arya threw up her hands. “I don’t understand! Is it good that Willas isn’t here or not?”

 

“Not,” Tyrion grumbled.

 

“It can be both,” Sansa insisted. “You shall give me all the reasons I should be angry and I will go in there and glare at him, and then I will not have to give Highgarden as much as I would have otherwise.”

 

“So he has insulted you,” Arya said. “Yet you are glad of it?”

 

“We are not glad of it,” Tyrion grumbled, still unhappy, though he conceded the point. “It does give her an advantage in negotiation.”

 

She looked at Tyrion, who was still scowling like an affronted cat. “Do you want to be with me?” she asked, seeing no reason he could not vent his spleen at Ser Garlan. Perhaps it would make him less moody. It would keep her on topic as well. She liked Garlan but did not want to show preference.

 

He seemed surprised she suggested it. “Your—of course, if you want me there,” he said without his usual quip.

 

She nodded at him and rose. “Sister, you do not usually help me dress but perhaps you can find me something intimidating to wear to meet Ser Garlan?”

 

Arya held up her sword and a few daggers she had secreted on her person with a questioning look.

 

Sansa looked at her Lannisters. “A bit obvious,” Jaime said with a smile, not at all ashamed that a man of the Queensguard had allowed so many weapons around the Queen. He turned jovially to escort his brother back to his chambers.

 

“I thought you wanted to marry Willas,” Arya said when they were gone. Her sister looked over Sansa’s few jewels with evident distaste.

 

“I did once,” Sansa admitted. “I wanted him to swoop in and take me away from King’s Landing. Now it would be seen as me abdicating my authority, especially by men like Randyll Tarly.”

 

Arya scowled and looked thoughtful. “I suppose that is what I mean by you having father’s heart,” she said. “If it were me, I would not trust going to another strange city with another strange boy after Joffrey was so awful. You trust people.”

 

“Not always,” Sansa replied, worried. A Queen could not be seen to be too trusting.

 

Arya did not reply right away and Sansa thought she had forgotten. “No, not always, but they must hurt you first. I wish you would not let them.”


End file.
